Murder Is Uncooperative (7 page)

Great,
I thought,
anything bad happens, and I want my mommy. When am I ever going to grow up enough that this stops happening? Probably never.

"Let's get you home,” Mariana was saying, steering me toward the elevator. It was comforting having her with me. “I could make you a cup of tea. That's always helpful after you've had a shock.”

My dad opened the door when we reached my apartment. “That was a long meeting,” he started to say, and then realized I was covered in blood. “Becky, what happened? My god, are you all right?”

“There was an accident in the office,” Mariana was saying.

“I'm fine, Dad,” I said, interrupting her. I remembered my manners enough to introduce her to my father.

“I live next door,” Mariana explained. “I was going to make her some tea.”

“Oh, Mariana, thanks, but I'm okay. I just want to have a shower and go to bed. Thanks for looking after me.”

Dad put his arm around me and pulled me into the apartment, thanking her before closing the door.

I leaned against him. Even if I couldn't have my mom, I still had my daddy. That would do.

I headed for the bathroom and started the shower. I stripped my clothes off, knowing I would never wear them again. I could probably wash them and get the blood out but just thinking about it made me shudder.

Actually, everything was making me shudder. I was shaking uncontrollably. I got into the shower and scrubbed myself until my skin was red. I knew everyone tried to avoid blood because of fear of disease. But I wasn't really thinking of that.

I was pretty sure that, despite my first aid and the care of the paramedics, Les wasn't coming back.

I went to bed after that, but I kept replaying the scene in the office over in my mind. I was still wide awake when the phone
beside my bed rang. I grabbed it before the sound could wake up Dad and Ben. It was Gwen.

“Oh, Rebecca. It's awful. Ruth called to tell me Les didn't make it.”

I felt tears in my eyes. “I'm so sorry. He was such a nice man. Maybe if I'd found him a bit sooner.”

“Don't even think that,” Gwen interrupted me. “You did everything you could. But that's not why I'm calling. There's a police officer here. He wants to talk to us about what happened.”

“A police officer? But wasn't it an accident?”

“Well, remember that I thought at first someone might have got into the building. I suppose Les could have found someone breaking into the office and they pushed the boxes on him to get away. Anyway, he told me they investigate any sudden deaths that aren't expected. I'm sure it's just a formality. But they should be able to tell if someone broke in. He just wants to talk to us about what we saw.”

I got dressed and went down to the main floor again. I gulped when I saw the boxes, Les's blood staining some of them.

The officer with Gwen looked young to me. He took statements from both of us.

“So you found him?” he asked me. “You were the one who made the call for the ambulance. I believe you said it was an accident?”

“That's what I thought. The office has boxes piled all over it. I thought they'd fallen on him.”

“But you thought someone might have broken in?” he said, turning to Gwen. “Is anything missing?”

“Who could tell?” she said, gesturing to the mess. “It's always complete chaos. We keep some petty cash in here but not a lot. I could check the files to see if it's still there. But Ruthie would
probably know more than I do. She's the one who handles the bookkeeping. That's Ruth Jacobs, the office assistant.”

He checked his notes. “Ah, yes. We talked to her at the hospital. I have her contact information.”

“She would normally be here tomorrow at nine o'clock,” Gwen continued. “But when she phoned about Les she asked for a couple of days off. I think she's some sort of relation, but I don't know what.”

“That's okay,” the officer said. “We won't want anyone going into the office until we've finished our investigation. I'll seal it up after I leave.”

“So you
do
think someone broke in?” Gwen was saying. “This is a nice neighborhood, but I know there have been break-ins in the area. And sometimes homeless people get in, looking for a place to sleep.”

I thought of the woman who had warned me about the co-op the first day I came here. She had been right that bad things happened here.

“Was the lock damaged?” I asked. “Here or the front door? How would someone get in?”

“Well, Les wouldn't have locked the office door if he was working. And the front door, well, we were having trouble with the intercom, so sometimes people just buzz people in if they're expecting someone. I think Les had it fixed, but maybe it's broken again. Or people will prop it open if they're just going out for a minute. They're not supposed to, but it happens.”

“We'll look into that,” the officer was saying. “So you two were both in here tonight?”

We answered a few more questions before he left. He seemed to be asking a lot of questions for something I still hoped was an accident.

I don't think Les's death really hit me until the next morning. I had barely known him, but he had been considerate and helpful to me. And he seemed such a dedicated employee. It would be a real loss to the co-op.

I'd taken Ben to pre-school and had come back to do some work in my home office. I had a couple of assignments to complete for two of my corporate clients. One had asked me to draft their annual report from material they had given me. The reports they had asked me to use were full of jargon and odd bureaucratic phrases that might have meant something to the staff members who wrote them, but not to anyone else. They were hard to read, but I enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep the meaning, while turning the language into something a layperson would understand. The other assignment was a bit more fun—a couple of articles for an employee newsletter.

Not exactly the investigative stories I had wanted to do when I started journalism school. But the work paid the bills and I still took satisfaction from turning a bit of jargony nonsense into prose that anyone could understand.

I hadn't completed as much as I had planned, thanks to all the disruption of moving. So I settled down to finish as much as possible before it was time to pick up Ben from pre-school.

I was so deeply into my editing work on the annual report that it took me a moment to realize someone was knocking on the apartment door. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I'd been sitting
at my keyboard for over three hours.
Good time for a break,
I thought, heading to open the door.

I was pleased to see Mariana and even more pleased to smell the scent of warm chocolate. She was holding a plate of cookies. “I was doing some baking and thought you might like these,” she said, “or at least I thought your little boy would.”

“I think we'll all like them,” I said. “They smell wonderful.”

“Good. Are you doing all right? I know last night must have been rough.”

“It was,” I admitted. “But worse for Les. What a terrible thing to have happened. You heard he didn't make it?” She nodded. “Look,” I said, “would you like to come in? I could make some tea.”

“If you're sure I'm not interrupting. Some of us do tend to drop into each other's homes all the time, but I'm sure you have lots to do.”

“Well, I'm ready for a cup of tea, and I'd love to have your company. I really appreciated your help last night. I was pretty upset.”

“I can imagine how awful it must have been.” She followed me into the living room. “Oh, this is charming. It's funny; most of the units have the same layout, but everyone decorates them differently, so they each look different. That loveseat looks like it was made for this room.”

“Hardly. We're not in the custom furniture income bracket. But I was glad it fit so well. And the bookcase is exactly the right length for the wall. That was lucky. They're both fairly new. My mother bought them when she and my dad sold their house and moved into a townhouse. Their old furniture was too big for the new place.”

Seeing her questioning look, I said, “She died last year.” I felt tears gathering in my eyes again and quickly changed the subject. “I'll just get the tea on. And let me unwrap these lovely cookies.”

Mariana had brought the cookies over on a plate covered with a linen tea towel. I thought for a moment about the towel I had pressed to the wound on Les's head and shuddered.

“Gorgeous plate,” I said, as I removed the covering. The plate was made of delicate china and the soft pink and blue flowers looked hand-painted.

“It was my grandmother's,” she said. “I inherited her china and some of her other things.”

“Then let me put these on one of my plates and give this back to you,” I said quickly. “Ben's a good kid, and pretty careful with things. But you know a four-year-old and a kitten are just not a good fit with family heirlooms.”

As if on cue, Maui came trotting into the living room. His nose twitched at all the unfamiliar smells—Mariana's perfume, the cookies, the still-new smell of the co-op apartment.

“What a sweet kitten,” Mariana said, holding out her hand toward Maui. He backed away.

“He's pretty shy around strangers,” I said. “He usually hides when people come over. He and Ben are good buddies, though. My two babies.”

I put the tea and cups on the low coffee table in the living room and went back for the plate of cookies.

“Is Ben with his father today?” she asked casually. “Or out with your father?”

Aha,
I thought,
I see the reason for the cookies.
Mariana was about my father's age. And my father was very good-looking, with a full head of silver hair and very dark eyes. Despite his arthritis, he
was still pretty fit. Several of the women in our old townhouse complex had seemed to be interested.

“Ben goes to pre-school a couple of days a week,” I answered. “And Dad has gone to the pool at the community center. Swimming is one of the exercises he can do even when his arthritis is bad. It's nice to have a pool so close.”

“Oh, it is,” Mariana agreed. “That's one of the things I love about this neighborhood. I'm often down at the community center to use the library. I've been working out at the fitness center too. And I love the pool. I'm there a lot. Maybe I'll run into your father there sometime. I like to keep fit.”

Looking at her comfortably rounded body, I questioned her fitness level. But I was willing to bet Dad was going to run into Mariana at the community center a lot. I didn't think that he was over my mother yet. But there was no denying Mariana was a lively, fun woman. And she was pretty. Her round face had very few wrinkles, and her dark hair, though obviously dyed, was shiny and thick. Her dark eyes were warm and friendly.

The outfit she wore seemed too elegant for visiting neighbors. Today she was dressed in a slim, long cotton dress in green, with a darker cardigan. Sandals in a soft, dark-brown leather completed the look. Hardly the outfit I would have chosen to bake in, if I even owned such a pretty dress.

I wondered if the gorgeous outfit was for my father's benefit, or if she just dressed beautifully all the time.

Mariana's green sweater reminded me of Gwen's last night. I shuddered again as I remembered her wiping her bloody hands on that sweater. I was willing to bet she would never wear it again. I had thrown my own bloodstained clothes in the garbage as soon as I could strip them off. I hoped the blood hadn't transferred to Mariana's clothes when she comforted me.

I was just pouring the tea when someone else knocked on the door. Because the outside buzzer hadn't rung, I was expecting it to be Gwen or someone else from the co-op. I pulled open the door with a smile on my face.

I'd never before seen the man at my door, but he was certainly pleasant to look at. Black hair, cut well enough to show just a hint of wave. Olive skin that had spent time in the sun this summer. A strong nose that wouldn't have looked out of place on an ancient statue. Cheekbones to die for. And golden eyes like an eagle.

He was wearing a beautiful gray suit, unusual in this casual co-op. It stretched over his broad shoulders but didn't hang loose on his slim torso. I wasn't much of a judge of men's clothing but the suit looked made for him. Or maybe he was just the perfect size.

Well, if the co-op has guys that look like this, I might start dressing up too,
I thought. I looked up at him.

“Rebecca Butler?” he asked. I nodded, still smiling.

That was before I noticed that the young police officer I'd met last night was standing behind him. And that the man I'd been ogling was holding police identification in front of my face.

“I'm Sergeant D'Onofrio. I just have a few questions I wanted to ask you.”

“About Les? Sure. And this is my neighbor, Mariana Cole. She was there last night too.”

“Yes, I have you on the list,” he said to her. “But I'd like to interview you separately.”

“Oh, sure,” Mariana said, standing up. “I just live next door. Come over when you're ready.”

The officers declined the tea I offered them but did sit down so they weren't towering over me.

"You and Ms. Gwendolyn Arsenault found Mr. Walter?” D'Onofrio began.

“Mr. Walter? Oh, Les. I didn't know his last name. I've just moved in to this building a little while ago. No, I found him. I went to get Gwen after I'd called 911.”

“I gather you told the emergency dispatcher that there had been an accident. You asked for an ambulance but not police. Can you tell me why you thought it was an accident?”

“Well, I just assumed. The office's been a mess every time I saw it. I just thought the boxes had fallen when Les tried to get something out of them or move them.”

“And yet, when Ms. Arsenault came into the office, she thought that there had been a break-in or that someone had been in the office. Do you know why that was?”